


Love, Honestly

by Laeviss



Category: World of Warcraft, World of Warcraft - Various Authors
Genre: M/M, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 12:00:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6005155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeviss/pseuds/Laeviss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varian Wrynn dreads Love is in the Air until a surprising message from Orgrimmar crosses his desk one Valentine's morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love, Honestly

Varian hadn’t expected anything but niceties to cross his desk that Valentine’s morning.

Since Tiffin’s death, his celebration of the holiday had shifted from ‘doing it for his family’ to ‘gritting his teeth and dealing with it to please the nobles.’ He didn’t take any joy in it– what joy was there to take from another feast, another public appearance, another holiday spent in the public eye instead of with his son?– but he did what he had to. With a sigh, he picked up his mug and, after a long swig of coffee, put on his glasses and started to sift through the mail.

There was a letter from S.J. Erlgaden on top, excusing himself from the Love Feast. Splattered with mud on the corner, hastily scrawled, it was exactly the kind of thing Varian himself wished he could write. “Can’t make it. Sorry.” Varian respected that. With a smirk, he pushed it to the side, and reached for the second message.

This one was much less suitable, at least in Varian’s opinion. A fine envelope, embossed at the edges, flashed and danced in the sliver of light pouring in from the curtains. The contents proved to be just as gaudy: heavy parchment dyed a deep crimson, and an ink made of real gold that had likely cost the noble’s entire fiefdom more than they could manage. Varian wasn’t particularly surprised when he saw the name: Elaine Lescovar. With her uncle’s recent exposure, it made sense she’d want to make up for it. But this? Shaking his head, the king pushed it aside, and moved on to the letter below.

He was already halfway through his coffee, and at least three bites in to the muffin his guard had slipped onto the corner of his desk, before he found it.

The first thing that caught his eye– or, his finger, because he felt it before he saw it– was the parchment. Courser and far heavier than anything, even Erlgaden’s hasty memo, that sat on his desk that morning, it didn’t _feel_ Alliance. Neat folds contrasted its jagged edging, and there was no seal or mark holding the flaps together.

There was only a single rune: Orcish, too archaic for Varian, with his limited knowledge of the language, to read, but he comprehended more than enough already. There was only one orc with the gall to send him a Valentine. There was only–

What the hell, Garrosh? 

Unable to admit how much his fingers were shaking, he all but tore the message open. His gaze fell first on the window, then the door, as his mind raced with thoughts of who had brought the mail and what they must have been thinking when they saw _this._ Garrosh was Warchief now. This wasn’t just a haughty breach of contract anymore. It was treason. Anyone, even _Garrosh_ , should have realized that! And yet–

Varian caught the scent of sand gently swept in the breeze, of waves rolling against the shore. Of a place much brighter, much warmer, as Garrosh sat beside a brazier and took care with each stroke and fold of the message. A smile twitched at the corner of his lips. Imagination or not, it was nice. No longer pretending, he finished undoing the message: hands quivering, eyes eager.

It was brash, but it was Garrosh. What did he expect?

Varian unfolded the message and spread it out across his desk. He was surprised to find the contents in Common: the precision with which every letter played out on the page revealed how much time it had taken the orc to do so. From the simple “Varian” at the top to the passage below, every letter was meticulous, drawn out like a schoolboy practicing his lines, all equally shaped and spaced.

Seeing such a thing from Garrosh gave Varian pause. His smile grew from a twitch to a full-on grin. An image of the orc bent over a table with an ink brush clenched between his fingers was so sincere and real he couldn’t help but take pleasure in it.

His coffee forgotten next to the muffin on the corner of his desk, he settled back in his chair, and started to read:

'It’s been quiet here. I want to meet you again. I know it is hard, but I may have something figured out. Message me when you can. I’ll explain.' 

Short, blunt, to the point. Careful writing and use of Common aside, now that he was reading it, he could almost hear Garrosh growling out the words. It was the proper amount of surprising and familiar: the pains the orc had taken to compose the message– unlike the gaudy letters that sat in a stack at the edge of the table– were taken in earnest, not to get some kind of response out of him. He had always liked Garrosh’s honesty. Though he was loath to admit it, it was...appealing, or something. Resting his thumbs against the corners of the parchment, he read on.

'I think about you a lot. It’s lonely. I wish I were back in Northrend. At least then, I’d see you sometimes. It pisses me off, Wrynn. I want to go back there. I want to fight with you, to look at you, to–' 

The message slipped from Varian’s fingers. His cheeks were hot: stolen by a flush before he had the chance to force it aside. And even though he knew no one was watching– knew this was the rare hour of the day he had to himself, without any show or forced smile or noble judging him for forgetting a distant member of their extended family– he couldn’t help but curse himself for his reaction. Even if no one else knew, he had to admit he was blushing. Because of Garrosh. Because he had said–

'– to kiss you right now. Fuck, Wrynn. How did this happen?' 

There was no signature or conclusion. No well-wishes or contrived “Love Feast greeting” to dull the impact of the message. There was only the truth: blatant, clear. Stomach clenched, chest rising and falling beneath the laces of his sleeping tunic, Varian rested his head against the back of his chair and squeezed closed his eyes. With one breath, then another, he let his thoughts settle in. His hand clenched around the parchment, and, pressing it to his chest, he let out a sigh.

♥ ♥ ♥

Garrosh liked Love is in the Air more than he cared to admit. It wasn’t exactly _Orcish_ with its flashy colors and foods far too sweet for his stomach to handle, but as much as he scoffed at the giggles, the bursts of vile perfume shot at the door of Grommash Hold, there was a part of him– a tiny, stamped out part– that took pleasure in it.

And the pile of charm bracelets and cards from his well-wishers certainly helped. 

He had arrived on his throne early for that reason, even cutting his training short to make sure he had time. In a few hours, he would be needed to approve the feast’s preparations, but for now he could settle in and greet his admirers. Boot propped up on a stool in front of him, he leaned back and waited for the first group to arrive. His lips pursed around his tusks in an attempt to seem impassive, but his gaze, all but glowing as it fixed on the door, betrayed his enthusiasm.

He was ready. Ready for the gifts and charm, the good-looking orcs flattering him with their presents, even the blood elves flashing him coy looks as they tried to sell him perfume. 

But he was not ready for the surprise that Valentine’s had in store.

Two handsome tauren had his attention when the mail arrived. One of them– a shaman, and one who had recently completed his training, if Garrosh had to guess– kept glancing at the floor as he spoke, a bracelet clenched in his furry hand. And as bored as Garrosh tried to look, he found it endearing. He didn’t usually go for tauren, but this one was attractive, and–

–It took Malkorok three grunts and a nudge to get his attention.

 _“What?”_ He snapped. The tauren’s bracelet ‘clnged’ as it hit the floor. 

“What is _this_?” 

Malkorok had nerve speaking to him– the Warchief– like that when he was trying to hold court. As close as they were, he’d become far too casual with him as of late, and Garrosh didn’t like it. At least, not when other people could see. The last thing he needed was for the Horde to decide Malkorok, not Garrosh, was running the show. 

Letting out a growl from between clenched teeth, he kept his eyes on the tauren– now leaning down to pick up his present– rather than acknowledging Malkorok. His fingers curled around the arm of his throne, and he straightened his shoulders. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

That earned a flinch from the other tauren, but not enough to hinder his stare as it darted from Garrosh, to Malkorok, then down to his friend. An understanding seemed to pass between the two of them, and, after dropping their bracelets in a pile to the left of Garrosh’s throne, they put their backs to the Warchief and headed out the door. If Garrosh was annoyed before, he was furious now. He was supposed to be greeting his guests, not dealing with whatever Malkorok thought he couldn’t– 

An envelope fell into Garrosh’s lap. Fluttered may have been a better word, as the paper was far lighter and softer than anything Orgrimmar had to offer. Glancing down, he found it tucked between his legs: light blue and sealed with a plain red wax, but otherwise unmarked, it waited– almost begging for his attention. And then, with a jolt, the realization hit him.

Last year. His Valentine.

_Wrynn._

“It reeks of human.” 

It didn’t take the leader of the Kor’kron to figure that out, Garrosh thought to himself, concern quickly eclipsing his irritation. Anyone could spot the paper as Alliance, no matter how discreet the message tried to be; he knew there was no denying it. Frustration swelled to fear, and fear to full-blown terror, until he had to struggle to keep his body from shaking

“I don’t pay you to read my mail.”

“It could be a threat.”

“I can handle threats on my own.”

“I–” 

“That’s what I thought.” Silently cursing himself for sounding so defensive, he jumped– no, stumbled– to his feet. His footstool rolled with a crack down the stairs. All thought to his well-wishers forgotten, he focused instead in the letter clenched between his fingers: soft, careful...foreboding in its potential. To reveal his secret, to chastise him, to mock him for speaking so openly on a holiday meant for _love,_ not for enemies. If Wrynn had sent this to tease him, or to get back at him, somehow–

He swallowed, hard. Keeping the glare on his face became a struggle, lasting him just long enough to stomp off into his private chamber. 

Once inside, he pressed his back against the door and listened to his heart pound. Between the suspicion likely mounting in Malkorok’s mind, and the knowledge that _Wrynn had responded_ , there was no holding off the shaking any longer. His palms were clammy; he was surprised the paper stayed dry in his hands. Biting his upper lip, he slid down to sit on the floor, and closed his eyes.

Here it goes, he thought, as he ripped open the seal.

He didn’t look down again until he had the paper unfolded. Spread out across his lap, the first thing he noticed was the writing: simple and clear. Not the script he had seen Alliance use in their missives– a realization for which he was thankful, as he had always found it difficult to read– but one that was honest and plainly stated. The knot in his chest started to unwind as he read:

'Hello Garrosh. You have a lot of nerve sending me a letter, you know? You could have gotten us both in a lot of trouble.' 

There it was: the chastisement. And Garrosh might have crumpled it into a ball and tossed it across the room if something else hadn’t caught his eye. But, with a deep, almost forceful, breath, he made himself read on. No matter what happened, at least he was alone.

'But I was happy to get it. It’s lonely here, too, and I agree that I’d rather be back in Northrend. I don’t know what to do with that, but there it is. I’ve been thinking about you. I’d like to see you, too, but I don’t know if that will be possible. What have we done here, Garrosh? It wasn’t supposed to turn out like this.' 

At the bottom, there was no 'Happy Love is in the Air,' no mention of love or the holiday at all. But Garrosh didn’t need it; it would have only made him squirm, and want to deny it, anyways. No. It was better this way. As open as the two of them could manage, every word _felt_ like Varian, and that brought a smile to his lips.

Drawing in a breath, he felt his muscles start to relax. Where his chest had been tight, now it was warm, light, and any fears about Malkorok or frustration at being pulled from his meeting were long since forgotten. There was only Varian, and the message he clutched between his fingers. And the knowledge that no matter what, no matter how much they growled or scowled or threatened one another face to face, the king wanted to see him again.

Love– or something akin to obsession, but Garrosh didn't waste time with the details– was in the air, indeed.


End file.
